


The Girl on the Train

by SighnomoreSolo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Pleasant Commute, Age Difference, Dominant Ben, F/M, Mildly dominant Ben Solo, Modern AU, Not quite a meet cute, PWP, Praise Kink, Professor Ben, Professor Kink, Rey seduces Ben on their daily commute, Seduction, Smut, That's sort of the plot, maybe a little plot?, strangers on a train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-24 09:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SighnomoreSolo/pseuds/SighnomoreSolo
Summary: Professor Ben Solo shares a compartment on the commuter train with the same girl, every day.One day, at the end of summer, she surprises him. He definitely doesn't mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> This is my first Reylo fic; I've been reading it on and off since TLJ came out, and this idea came to me this evening after dinner, so I had to write it. 
> 
> Rey is 21, and Ben is 31 in case that would bother anyone. 
> 
> Also, Rey seduces him before they've even spoken...  
> ...That's it. That's the plot.
> 
>  
> 
> MEEP!!!!!!!

Ben Solo settles into his typical seat on the commuter train; the compartment is empty, for now. Until the next stop, at least.

He feels foolish, younger than his thirty-one years, while he waits for the train to pull up to Niima Outpost, an oddly named neighborhood on the Grey Line towards Coruscant University where he’s worked for the last four years, since receiving his PhD in Art History.

His section of Renaissance Bodies starts today, and he’s looking forward to meeting his collection of second- and third-year students. But, if he’s being honest, Ben’s looking forward to the next eighteen minutes of his commute a little more than his job.

It’s embarrassing, is what it is, and he hides behind his newspaper for the time being, shoving his thick-framed glasses up his nose with one finger. Easy enough to lose himself in a mundane article about an installation at the CorArt so abstract his uncle could have produced it, easy enough to grit his teeth at the very thought of his uncle - whose rejection of Ben’s more linear approach to the art world had been a major reason for his switch from Sculpture to Art History as an undergrad - easy enough to wait three and a half minutes until -

The seat across from him is occupied, and Ben’s fingers tighten imperceptibly around the corners of his newspaper. 

Only one person ever sits across from him, and he revels in that for a moment. He knows it’s her. He can smell her, for God’s sake, and isn’t that embarrassing? That he knows what she smells like, even if he doesn’t know her name. Like Jasmine, and earth, and something too personal to name, like a home he never quite learned the name of.

_ Get it together. _

Ben wills himself to flip the corner of his paper down to offer a half-smile to the compartment’s new inhabitant.

The girl with the three buns smiles back at him, full and bright and lacking any of the cynicism he’s comfortable with. He’s taken to calling her the girl on the train, at least, he would call her that if he had friends to talk about her with. His journal knows of her by that name, at least, and the girl on the train does not disappoint today.

She’s wearing a soft yellow sundress with straps so thin it should be illegal; freckles dust her lightly tanned shoulders, and form constellations on her cheek. Ben’s studied art for so long that he hopes she wouldn’t find it creepy if he were to whisper to her the various shapes he’s found among the map of her freckles. 

...It might be creepy if he were to offer to map the rest of them, the ones he can’t see, even when she’s wearing a soft yellow sundress, the hem of which is riding up to reveal long, tanned thighs that are taut with muscle. 

The girl on the train smiles at him, and Ben remembers to stop staring. He shakes the paper out with a slight clearing of his throat and pretends to read, his eyes flicking up here and there to look at her some more.

She’s staring now, with a bemused expression. His lips twitch up into a smile despite himself - they’ve been sharing this compartment all summer; he gets on first, and gets off before she does. She’s typically carrying something, the girl on the train, a potted plant, or a milk crate full of oddities, or parts of machines, depending on the day. Today, she has a brown, worn leather knapsack, resting at her feet, resting against the pretty braided sandals that match her dress perfectly. 

The girl on the train notices him staring again, and tries to catch his eye.

Blushing now, Ben return to his paper in earnest, flipping the page of the Style section to a review of a play that Armitage had been marginally involved in (although if you were to ask him, he had been the star, the director, and the producer, and not just the sound guy).

The reviewer didn’t like it, and Ben is actually amused for a second; he considers clipping it out and hanging it somewhere on his fridge so Armitage can see it when Phasma actually convinces him to show up to their once-weekly dinners. 

The girl on the train clears her throat, and Ben loses his train of vindictive thought.

Maybe she needs water, he thinks deliriously. Maybe she has a cold.

The girl on the train clears her throat again, and Ben lifts his eyes from his paper.

Nothing could prepare him for what he sees:

The girl on the train’s smile doesn’t waver, her eyes bright, her dimple endearing and charming, perfect and sweet enough that Ben wants to taste it - a thought that would make him feel creepy, if not for what she’s doing.

The girl on the train drags her sandaled left foot up onto the cushion next to her, planting it firmly, sliding it until her knee is pushed up against the seatback, her thigh turned outward. The hem of her soft yellow sundress, which Ben has already noted as  _ short  _ and almost indecently so, rides up in a way that is certainly indecent.

The girl on the train is  _ not  _ wearing underwear.

His ears, his stupid, large, Dumbo ears, must be on fire. He can feel their heat radiating out, the same heat at his cheeks as he drops his eyes to his paper, reading furiously and not taking a single word in.

The girl on the train clears her throat again, and he looks up, thoroughly convinced that he’s in hell. That he knows what hell feels like, now. This is hell.

This is hell because he doesn’t deserve Heaven, and this must be some cruel trick: the girl on the train runs a slender hand down the front of her dress, her eyes locked on Ben, and pushes the hem of her dress even further up, revealing -

He blushes harder, the paper shaking in his hands now. He might rip through it at this point. 

She smirks at him, and her other hand drifts over to spread the lips of what can only be described as a perfect pussy: delicate, pink, and certainly wet. He imagines, for a wild moment, her stroking herself as she waited for the train, ducking into some alcove, touching herself to the thought of him, to the thought of seeing him, driving her to a delirium that only found resolution here in this too-small, empty compartment.

Ben Solo doesn’t move a muscle, just sits with his paper still open, the spread of which is thankfully hiding his erection. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard, and he only gets harder when the hand not spreading her pussy open for inspection goes to stroke the wetness gathered around her sweet little cunt.

He groans in his throat, a small, choked off noise that the girl on the train definitely catches. She smirks, her cheeks hot and pink with it, as her fingers slip inside her cunt, and she begins to fuck herself. The soft, obscene noise fills the compartment, the only other noticeable sound Ben’s own, heavy breathing. 

His mouth is  _ watering,  _ something he’s never experienced before in terms of lust. If she asked any price, he would pay it, to sink to his knees and worship her with his mouth. He wants to pin her down with one hand, splayed across her belly, pushing her against the bench of the compartment while he fucks her with his tongue. He wants to push her small fingers out of the way and replace them with his own, testing out one, two, three fingers, fucking her so that she rides his face, her greedy little cunt seeking out  _ more - _

As if she could hear him, the girl on the train adds another finger, her legs falling open impossibly wider. She sighs, one hand circling her clit lazily, the slick wet of her cunt staining her fingers as she does so. Ben wets his bottom lip, unsure of what’s happening, only sure that he loves it, that he doesn’t want this train ride to ever end.

Her breath accelerates, and he can’t tear his eyes away, now. They’ve made other stops, but it’s not a busy route, and they’ve chosen a compartment far away from the more populated parts of the train. He’s wondered before if she’s like him, lonely but still a desperate seeker of solitude.

No such eloquent thought passes his mind now, as he sets his paper aside and rests his elbows on his knees, openly staring at the way her fingers disappear into her cunt, the noises growing louder and louder. Her breathing is growing higher and higher pitched, and the announcement overhead tugs at his attention for a moment, if only because it means that he has to get off this fucking train in a few minutes for his fucking job - and does he really want this job? Does he really need to go the first day of class? Fuck it all, he’ll let it burn, for her, for this, and -

Her breathing accelerates more, and she makes a strange, keening noise, needy and sweet, and Ben’s cock throbs in his pants. 

“Come for me,” he orders, his deep voice filling the compartment and shattering the silent companionship they’ve built between them for three months. Her eyes widen, and her breath catches, and for half a second he regrets the command more than he’s ever regretted anything (which is saying something) because that’s the first thing he’s ever said to her, the first thing they’ve ever said to each other.

But only for a half a second.

She squeezes her eyes shut with a soft, throaty, “ _ Fuck _ ,” drawing the vowel out deliciously, her fingers still tucked into her cunt as her body seizes, and she comes beautifully, sprawled out on the seat, her face twisted up in what most artists of a certain time period would call  _ agony. _

[ _ Arriving at - Coruscant University _ ] the overhead PA system announces. [ _ This stop, Coruscant University _ ]

The girl on the train is obviously trying to catch her breath, and Ben stands shakily, abandoning his paper and any pretense of self-control. She can see the way his cock strains against his pants now, pushing against his zipper cruelly, and he feels his heart pound at the way her pupils dilate, watching his cock, drifting to his face as he walks over to her.

He doesn’t say a word to her, just holds his hand out.

She places her hand in his without another word, large doe eyes - hazel, he notes, not brown like he’d thought, too much green and too lovely to be real - staring up at him.

Without breaking eye contact, Ben bends at the waist and slips her fingers into his mouth, sucking her digits clean. Her breath catches audibly, and at this distance, he really can count her freckles. 

It’s cruel, but he does have a class to get to, so he can’t fuck her against the window like he wants, or pull her across campus to his office to ravish her on his deck like he’d prefer. So, with nothing but a smirk, he kisses her fingertips, releases her hand, and heads towards the exit, right as the train comes to a stop at Coruscant University.

Ben walks off the train quickly, and he fights every instinct he has to look back; he’ll wait for tomorrow to see her, and to maybe even get her number.

***

“Segal, Rowan,” Ben says, squinting down at his roster.

“Present.” A boy in the third row of the lecture hall raises his hand, and Ben nods in acknowledgement, marking the name down on his seating chart.

“Smith, Rey.” There’s no response, and Ben looks up from his roster, still squinting. No one seems to recognize the name, and Ben frowns. It’s entirely possible Smith, Rey dropped the class earlier this morning. It wouldn’t even be the first time his roster mysteriously reduced overnight - undergrads tended to balk when they read through his reviews, no matter how many chili peppers he was confusingly awarded - but it's still irritating. 

He sighs and tries one more time. “Smith, Rey?” His voice is louder this time, but still no response, and he looks back down, ready to ask for Tico, Rose, when -

The doors bang open, and someone sprints down the steps of the lecture hall. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” a lovely, melodic British voice says. “I got caught up on the-”

He looks up from the roster, and has to snap his teeth together to stop his jaw from dropping.

“-Train.”

The girl on the train is standing at the foot of the stairs, worn leather knapsack dangling from her hand, apparently ready for her first day of  _ Renaissance Bodies,  _ aka the class where Ben Solo is fucking doomed to teach her about naked bodies for fifty-five goddamn minutes, twice a week, for the next fifteen weeks. 

Ben clears his throat, praying that the rest of the class didn’t notice his intense reaction to her appearance.

“Nice to meet you. Rey.” He nods and returns to his roster; he can hear her shuffling into a seat in the front row. Great. Not that he has any other visual burned into his mind of Rey Smith sitting in a seat in front of him.

“...Tico, Rose?”

“Present.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fic in the archive
> 
>  
> 
> I have a lot of smutty one-shot ideas for Reylo. Let me know what you all think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Ben Solo waits for the girl on the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is some resolution from last chapter. You all were so supportive and it encouraged me to sit down and write some more this evening. Thank you all!

Ben settles into the seat the morning after his day from hell (the one where he participated in something  _ very  _ stupid, the one where he could have lost his job) and forgoes the armor of his typical, casual newspaper.

As the train pulls away from his stop, he tries to get his heart to stop beating so quickly and balls his hands into tight fists, rapping them against the seat on either side of his legs.  _ Conquer it,  _ he thinks.  _ Conquer it before it conquers you.  _

His anxiety had manifested in rage as a younger man, before he’d abandoned his trajectory to become an artist like his uncle and his namesake, Ben “Obi Wan” Kenobi. His temper had been coddled, allowed, by all the wrong mentors, who mistook it for passion. His court-mandated therapist hadn’t been so kind.

Now, as he waits for Niima Outpost, he asks himself: does he  _ want  _ her to show up? The girl on the train?

_ Rey Smith.  _

Just the thought of her voice is enough to make him hard again, and he grits his teeth. The problem is that she’s all too lovely, tempting and sexy, the kind of girl who wouldn’t have looked twice at him ten years ago unless it was to scoff. He’s aware that he has a face that had to be “grown into” (and he never did quite grow into his ears) and his height was less endearing before he found ways to add muscle to it. Throw in the glasses and the odd propensity to spurt off facts about art history, mythology, and even  _ calligraphy,  _ and the equation of nerdiness only had one solution: Ben Solo had  _ not  _ gotten laid in high school and undergrad.

Professor Solo is a different story, though.

And, for a brief moment, he allows himself to wonder if  _ he’d  _ been as alluring to her - perhaps he’s ‘the boy on the train’ to Rey Smith? Does he too, haunt her dreams? She’d clearly come with a mission, yesterday, he muses as they near her stop. 

Maybe she’d come again today.

He snorts despite himself at the unintentional pun, and his heart lurches at the same time the train does. 

[ _ Niima Outpost _ ] the automated voice announces, and Ben sighs heavily. [ _ Arriving at - Niima Outpost _ ]. It’s the moment of truth, and he suddenly wishes he had brought a newspaper, if only so that he would have something to do with his massive, ungainly hands.

This would be less nerve-wracking if she hadn’t sprinted from the front row the second he’d dismissed class yesterday; he’d barely had time to turn around from the board, where he’d written the night’s reading before she’d disappeared out the back doors of the lecture hall, the hem of her yellow sundress the only thing visible before the door slammed shut behind her.

He’d gazed up at the door in unmasked concern, but a small voice had piped up as though reading his mind:

“She’s got Physics in Ackbar Hall!”

“Hmm?” Ben had blinked and looked over to see the short girl Rey had sat next to for the duration of his lecture - Rose Tico, according to his seating chart. 

“Rey?” Rose had frowned at him, one eyebrow lifting. “She didn’t mean to be rude - she just has to book it to make it in time for her three o’clock.”

“Oh.” Ben had managed to nod and shrug. “Thank you, Ms. Tico.”

In the present, the train lurches forward once again, picking up speed as it heads for its next stop. He forces himself to stare out the window at the blurring landscape, still unsure if he wants her to arrive or not, if he can handle it or not, if he’s allowed to touch her or not -

No. He’s definitely not allowed to touch her.

A throat clears, and his heart almost jumps out of his mouth.

“Hello.” Rey Smith, the girl on the train, is standing in the doorway of the compartment, nervously tucking a strand of hair out of her face. She’s wearing overalls today, a streak of grease on her delicate wrist, and her hair is braided back in a different style from yesterday; her shirt’s seen better days, and he notes, not for the first time, how painfully thin she is.

Still, she’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, and his mouth goes dry.

_ Are we sure we’re not allowed to touch her? _

“Sorry for taking off yesterday. I just -”

“Had Physics in Ackbar Hall?” Ben guesses, and he allows himself to smirk at the surprise on her face.

“Oh, uh-”

“Your friend told me.” He waves a hand at her and then eyes her typical seat. Thankfully, Rey sits, still looking nervous, which might have something to do with what he just said. “Not stalking you; she just told me after you sprinted out of my lecture hall.”

“I didn’t sprint,” Rey says hotly.

“No. You Apparated,” Ben deadpans.

She snorts a laugh, her hand coming up to hide her smile as though she’s been taught to. He wants to wrap his fingers around her forearm -- and something is  _ wrong with him  _ because he knows his fingers would touch if not overlap, and part of him is interested in that --  and tug her hand away from her mouth so he can see her smile fully, see what it is that lives in the eyes of the girl on the train, who fucks herself on her fingers in front of virtual strangers but is still shy enough to hide her own smile.

“I’m sorry.” She looks surprised to hear him say it, but he continues. “I honestly didn’t know that you’re my student. I should have--” He can feel his ears burning, and he’s sure she can see the damn things turning red. No matter how long he grows his shaggy, black hair, the tips of his ears are always visible. 

“Told me not to make a fool of myself?”

“You didn’t make a fool of yourself.” They stare at each other, Rey lifting her chin almost challengingly before her expression quiets, and she nods, her cheeks pink. 

Ben’s practiced this part, in his mirror last night, and this morning, and in the shower. So, he steels himself and speaks quickly, urgently, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees; his legs are so long, they reach more than halfway across the compartment, and if she scooted forward just a little bit, they’d bump into each other. She doesn’t move towards him; she also doesn’t move away.

“Still. I don’t want you to worry about it. I can forget it happened, and it won’t affect your position in my class. You’re a student, and I’m a professor, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize either fact. I won’t take advantage of what happened. I certainly won’t ask you for a...repeat performance.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I beg your pardon?” Ben can feel his eyebrows disappearing into the hair that hangs in his face. 

“I said, that’s too bad.” Rey smirks at him, her face bright red now, but her eyes sparkling. They’re beautiful eyes, objectively. Ben could get lost in them.  _ Get it together.  _ “I sort of wanted a repeat performance. Or at least, maybe a … reciprocation?” Her eyes linger more than is strictly necessary or appropriate on his body, and Ben coughs quietly and shifts.

“That wouldn’t be…” Ben shakes his head, groaning internally at the fact that he has to convince Rey Smith  _ and  _ his dick that this is a bad idea. “I cannot sleep with students.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?” Rey crosses her right leg over her left and cross her arms in front of her body. Her smirk deepens. Maddening. 

“Rey.” Ben pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I can’t say  _ I don’t want to- _ -”

“--Good--”

“Because that would make me a liar, but I also know that it would be disastrous if the school discovered I had a sexual relationship with one of my students, even if we just took turns masturbating in front of each other on public transportation.”

“Oh.” Rey squints at him, but her lips soon fold into a small smile, tighter in one corner like she’s holding back a laugh.

“It isn’t that funny.” He smiles though because she’s smiling. God. He’s fucked. 

“It isn’t.” Rey shrugs. “But it also isn’t a problem.”

“You facing disciplinary action and me facing termination is sort of a problem,” he argues, oddly unheated. He’d usually be screaming at this point in an argument, but something about Rey just makes him feel...pleasantly on his toes, and not on the edge of losing his shit. Huh.

“It’s not a problem because I’m not your student.” Rey opens her knapsack and hands him a print-out that reads:

_ Coruscant University Registrar _

_ Course Add/Drop:  _

_ Renaissance Bodies (ART 355): Drop _

_ Acknowledged - 08/23/2019.  _

Funny that she wouldn’t just show him this on a smartphone, he thinks briefly before remembering that one, he’s never actually seen her using a smartphone, and two --

“You shouldn’t drop a class just to avoid having me as a professor.” He looks up at her, frowning, and she doesn’t drop her gaze from his face. It’s direct, and a little unnerving, and really fucking attractive, if he’s being honest. “I promise, I won’t do anything untoward.”

Rey grins. “Okay, Mr. Darcy.” He doesn’t smile, and she sighs. “It was a free elective. I only took it because Rose was in it. No offense, but art isn’t really my thing.” She opens her knapsack again and pulls out a red textbook that says  _ Multivariable Calculus, 7th edition,  _ and a blue one that says  _ Differential Equations, 9th edition.  _

“Engineering major.” She tucks the books back away with a sigh. “Art  _ really  _ isn’t my thing. I switched into Welding.” Rey leans forward, and their knees bump together. Ben pretends like it doesn’t rush through him like static electricity. “And  _ that _ sounds wicked.”

“It does,” Ben agrees, if only because his brain is whirring. If she isn’t his student, and she really did drop out of her own volition, then - he wracks his brain, but he can’t actually determine if this violates the school’s rules or not. For a moment, he wonders if it violates his own set of ethics, but then Rey smiles at him again and any thought of that nonsense goes right out the window.

Ethics. Pfffbt.

“So.” They’re pulling up to the University now, and Rey’s still staring at him in that unnerving, thrilling way of hers.

“So.”

She makes no move to gather her things, and Ben rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “What class do you have this afternoon?” He asks lamely. This could be the moment where she realizes that he’s a huge loser. She wouldn’t be wrong. Or the first to think so.

Rey blushes, instead. “I, uh.” She drops her gaze for the first time since she walked into the compartment. “...I don’t have classes on Wednesdays.”

Ben’s eyebrows could easily fly into the atmosphere, they move so quickly. “No?”

“No.” She shifts on her seat looking embarrassed. All he can focus on is how the blush brings out her freckles. Rey Smith is fucking adorable, and he’s going to get fucking wrecked by this, he can tell.

He’s looking forward to it. 

“You just wanted to see me?” He guesses, his voice pitching lower. Rey notices, and she looks up at him through her long, dark lashes.

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s sweet of you.” Her blush deepens, and some suspicions start to solidify. He smirks to himself, very much looking forward to getting his hands on her properly. But, first, he should also be honest. “I don’t teach class on Wednesday.”

“No?” Rey blinks, surprised. “Do you have office hours?”

“Nope. I usually work from home on Wednesdays.”

“But.” 

They’ve seen each other  _ every  _ weekday morning since May. Ben should know, because he’s made an effort to be on the train every weekday morning, even when he really didn’t need to be on the train.

“But,” he echoes, smiling and hoping she doesn’t find it creepy.

Her answering smile is radiant, filling her whole face, her whole person lighting up. It’s almost too much, and Ben doesn’t know what to say, not at first.

[  _ Arriving at - Coruscant University _ ] the overhead PA system chimes in. [  _ This stop, Coruscant University _ .]

“So what do you want to do, Professor Solo?” His title coming out of her mouth has fire racing down his spine, curling into his gut. He studies her face, and Rey’s eyes are steady as she looks back at him. 

He settles back into his seat, and after several moments of silence, the train begins to move forward. 

The girl on the train smiles at him, and Ben Solo smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could totally see a Professor!Ben (maybe a little dominant Ben...) defiling Rey in a potential Chapter 3. What do you all think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben go back to his house and, uh, get a little closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much smut. Some dominant behavior on Ben's side (something Rey is very much into...)
> 
> More "Professor Ben," though, and not quite "50 Shades"
> 
> Praise kink, etc
> 
>  
> 
> Again, everyone's kind comments encouraged me to add another chapter! Thanks guys!

Ben’s hands shake a little as he opens the door to his modest two story house, and steps to the side so Rey can brush past him.

She looks around with unbridled interest, her eyes catching on the sculptures that litter the wall of the foyer. “These are interesting.” She squats down to peer at them, her head tilting, and Ben closes and locks the door behind him, trying to comprehend that the girl from the train, Rey Smith, who was his student only twenty-four hours ago (and _isn’t now_ ) is in his house, looking at his art.

“Uh. I made them.” He rubs his neck when she looks over her shoulder with unrestrained glee.

“You’re an artist?” She bounces to her feet and heads further into the house, her Converse slapping against the hardwood floor. Leia Organa’s voice echoes in his head - _shoes off inside the house_! - but Ben doesn’t say it out loud. Not when Rey looks so happy, so interested, in his little life, which he was able to build after burning his past down.

“I guess it makes sense, you’re an art professor,” Rey’s still talking, trailing her hands over the various pieces of furniture collected in his sitting room. She pushes the rocking chair his father carved for his grandmother, when Padme was dying, studying the way it moves. “Of course you’d be good at art.”

He smiles, something pleased and light tugging at his heart. Eight years ago, he would have been offended enough to hurl one of his sculptures through the sliding glass that leads to his patio, screaming _good? Just good?_ But Rey’s complimenting him, he knows, knows it by the way her eyes get soft as she studies a painting hanging above his fireplace.

It’s something he painted under Luke’s tutelage, a collection of color starbursts, vivid golds and greens clustered around the majority of the canvas. In the middle, there’s a grey, amorphous blub, not quite a starburst, not quite beautiful, asymmetrical and almost uncomfortably muddling the focal point of the painting.

Her face is unreadable. It makes him nervous. “Painted that, too,” he mutters, coming to stand behind her.

“Oh.” Her eyes turn on him, wide and sad, and without warning, she throws her arms around him.

Other than the moment he had her fingers in his mouth, other than the brief moment their knees bumped together on the train - this is the first time they’ve touched. It shocks him, and some of the nervous, anticipatory lust in his stomach fades to something much scarier.

“Oh?” He puts his hands on her shoulder blades -- sharp, like he expected -- and holds her a little closer, so her tiny nose presses into his sternum. She’s not a short woman, but she’s slender, and over half a foot shorter than himself.” What’s oh?”

“You’re so lonely,” she whispers into his shirt, and he stiffens. “Sorry. I just.” Rey pulls back a bit, so she can turn her luminous eyes on him, and Ben clears his throat nervously. “It might not even be what you meant. I’m total shit at art. But looking at it, it makes me...it reminds me…”

Ben reaches up slowly and strokes her hair, the strands that have fallen out of her braid by this point, having been loosened by the day’s high humidity.

“Sorry.” Rey hides her face in his chest again, which makes his lips twitch slightly, even though she’s read him so quickly.

“I am lonely,” he says softly, and her arms tighten around him. “You aren’t wrong.”

“Still. I can be rude.” Rey shrugs off-handedly and releases him, and Ben automatically feels colder for it. “I was sort of raised by wolves.”

“Were you? How very Remus and Romulus,” Ben teases, reaching out to tug on the hip pocket of her overalls. Rey doesn’t smile though. At least, not with her eyes. Something defensive flares to life inside of him, and he ducks a finger under chin, guiding her to look up at him. “We’re back at my place, like you requested on the train. So, I’ll ask again: What do you want, Rey?”

She shivers when he says her name, which does wonders for the flagging erection he’s sporting. “You,” she says, her cheeks flushing again, but her eyes not moving from his face.

“Me?” He takes a step forward; she doesn’t take a step back. His hand moves so his fingers wrap around the base of her skull, cradling her head as she continues to stare up at him.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Professor. I typically don’t finger myself in front of total strangers.”

The admission _does something_ to his brain, and even though Ben Solo’s far from a virgin at this point in his life, Rey Smith casually talking about fucking herself in front of him -- adding in his title, no less -- might be one of the hottest things he’s ever heard.

Other than the sound of her fucking herself, that is, or the sound of her cumming on her fingers.

 _She’ll be even more beautiful when she comes on my fingers,_ he thinks, unbidden, and he fights back a possessive growl at the thought.

“That’s good to hear.” His voice has gotten lower, and Rey shivers again. “I can honestly say that was a first for me, as well.”

“I don’t know what it is about you.” Rey’s still staring up at him, her hazel eyes brighter than the sun. “But something about you…I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Don’t worry,” Ben whispers. “I feel it too.”

“Yeah?” Painful, bright hope comes to life in her face, and although his skin is so hot, Ben thinks he might actually catch on fire, he controls the overpowering urge to throw her on the couch and fuck her senseless for the time being.

“Yes. I thought about you.” He takes another step forward, and Rey does take a step back this time. “All summer.” Another step forward.

His fingers trace the strap of her overalls, running from her shoulder, to the buckle that rests above the small swell of her breasts, back up to her shoulder.

Another step forward; Rey takes another step back. She doesn’t look afraid, but curious, assessing (and if her pupils are anything to go of off, aroused).

“Did you think about me?” He dares to ask.

Rey nods, and doesn’t step away this time when he crowds up against her. “Did you think about me fucking you?” His voice drops an octave, and Rey’s pink mouth pops open slightly.

She nods again.

“What are you thinking about right now?” It’s phrased like a question, but they both know it to be a command.

“I want you to kiss me,” Rey answers boldly. That’s good, then. They want the same thing.

“And then?”

“I want you to …” Rey trails off, her hands folding together for a second, her eyes darting to the staircase that leads up to his room.

“Is that so?”

Rey nods, and turns her face up to his expectantly.

“I won’t touch you without permission.” Ben studies her body language carefully. “But let me be perfectly honest, Rey: when you give it, I intend to fuck you, hard, until the only thing you remember is my name, and the way my cock feels inside you.”

“You have my permission,” Rey breathes, looking wildly excited now. She tugs on his shirt desperately. “Kiss me. Fuck me. Whatever you want--”

“Whatever we want,” Ben corrects, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist and hauling her in until she’s folded up against his body; again, he notices how much smaller he is, and his cock twitches uncomfortably in his pants.

“Whatever we want,” Rey repeats, leaning up on her toes, her eyes already devouring his mouth.

He closes the final distance, and discovers that reality is so much better than expectation.

Rey Smith tastes divine: a little like coffee, a little like something earthy but still sweet. He licks into her mouth quickly, one arm still wrapped around her, his other hand carding through her hair, pulling more and more of it out of the braid as he swallows her gasps and small noises.

Ben can’t help but groan at how little she is, how her breasts feel pushed up against his stomach, and with the arm wrapped around her waist, he lifts her slightly off the ground -- Rey gasps into his mouth, and he swallows that too, kissing her more soundly as his hands shift and adjust to grip her under her firm, perfect ass.

“I’m going to take you to bed,” he announces, striding to the staircase. “And I don’t intend to let you up until you’ve come on my cock at least twice.”

“Deal.” Rey’s diving back in for another greedy kiss, and Ben’s all too happy to provide just that.

When he hits the stairs, he pulls away from the kiss, if only so he doesn’t do something mortifying, like drop her, which would definitely kill the mood. Rey attacks his neck instead, a little sloppy, and slightly inexperienced or potentially uncontrolled from lust (if only because he knows he can’t chalk the clumsy way her mouth moves at times up to insecurity or lack of confidence -- Rey Smith certainly knows what she wants).

He hits the landing, and Rey bites down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sharp little teeth worrying into the sensitive skin there, and he makes a sound almost like a howl. Rey huffs a laugh, sweet and short into his throat, but Ben’s about to lose it.

Pinning her to the wall of the landing, Ben takes her hands from around his neck and pins them up above her head. “Didn’t anyone tell you,” he growls, diving in to kiss her forcefully, grinding his hips into her, “It isn’t polite to bite?”

She responds by biting his lip, playfully, not enough to hurt, barely enough to sting, and all Ben can think is _brat._

He can’t study the fondness behind the word, not at the moment.

His fingers tighten around her wrist, and he grinds into her again, his cock throbbing and Rey mewling as he ruts against her. It can’t feel good, not as good as it _could_ feel, as it _will_ feel, but Rey doesn’t seem to mind, her legs flexing and tightening around his waist while her face reddens. The blush pools down her throat, and Ben wants to find how far down that blush goes.

Ben releases one of her wrists and trails his fingers down her arm, to her shoulder, and down the strap of her overalls; without taking his eyes off her face, he unsnaps the buckle, and then lets his fingers drift across her chest towards the other buckle. It’s going to be an undertaking, stripping Rey, but he’s all too glad to partake in it.

Rey moves towards him again, clearly aiming for another kiss, but he dodges it, and instead hauls her back to a better position in his arms and takes the final flight of stairs two at a time, Rey clinging to him tightly. He kicks his door open, thankful that he’d cleaned on Sunday, thankful that his floor is free of dirty laundry and trash (he can’t do anything about the stacks of books, which are really more like furniture at this point).

It’s a few seconds later that he’s setting Rey down in front of his bed, and she’s wiggling out of her overalls. Without shame, she steps out of the pants, standing in front of him only wearing her faded t-shirt and underwear as she slips out of her Converse as well.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ben blurts out, and Rey blushes again. Then, he remembers her behavior on the stairs, and he smirks. “But.”

“But?” Rey looks at him with interest, and they assess each other for a moment.

“But,” he drawls, “You’re a wild thing, aren’t you, Rey?”

“Yes... _sir_.” She must know the emphasis she puts on the title, judging by the way her teeth worry into her lip, by the way her eyelashes flutter. Rey Smith was sent to torture him, he’s sure.

But he can have his own fun on the way.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, running his hands up and down her bare arms. “You just need a teacher.” She squeaks as he pushes her back on the bed, and she squeaks again when he falls to his knees, still wearing his trousers and ironed button down. He watches her face while he rolls up his sleeves to the elbow, watches the way her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, the way her pupils expand rapidly as he grips her calves and pushes her legs apart.

“Pretty girl,” he croons, eyeing the wet spot at the front of her underwear. Rey squirms under the examination, and he sighs, kissing the inside of her knee, the soft skin of her thigh. “Good girl. Good enough to eat.”

“O-okay,” Rey lies back on her elbows, still mystified. “You don’t need to twist my arm, Professor.”

He snorts and then kisses her thigh again. “I’m clean, by the way.” His voice almost cracks, so he clears his throat. “I have paperwork to show you?”

“You don’t need to.” Ben guides her legs further apart, his fingers curling into the waistband of her underwear. “I trust you.” He hums, and presses the heel of his right hand against his cock, trying to stop himself from getting too ahead, from this ending far too early. “I’m clean too. And I have a condom in my purse.”

“Of course you do. Always prepared, aren’t you, Ms. Smith?”

“Yes sir.”

He smirks and sits up to pull her underwear over her hips, down her thighs, Rey shimmying slightly to help him. Now, he has unencumbered access to her, and his fingers inch towards their destination.

“You were so clever, yesterday,” he praises, pulling away at the last second. Rey mutters something in protest. “You certainly caught my attention.”

“Had to do something.” Rey grits out, staring up at the ceiling as though irritated. “You were ignoring me.”

“Ignoring you?” Ben places a kiss that’s more of a bit to the inside of her thigh, about six inches above her knee. Rey squeaks again, a sweet sound that he wants _more_ of. “How could I ignore you?” He leans in, letting his breath wash over her, even as he breathes deeply and learns what Rey Smith smells like. “With a pussy like this?”

She honest to God whimpers, and Ben almost loses all semblance of control.

“Y-yeah. Had t-to...get creative.”

“It certainly worked.” He smooths his hands up her calves, along her thighs, and then presses his thumbs into the soft part of her muscled legs, pushing her legs apart even more. “All I could think about yesterday was this sweet little cunt.” He places a kiss to the side of her neatly trimmed curls, and he can _sense_ her fluttering. “Even before you walked into my classroom.”

“F-fuck.” Rey gasps out, staring at the ceiling. “You looked _so_ hot up there, Professor Solo, I swear--”

“I did?” Ben’s taken aback, and the surprise colors his voice, breaking the mood he’s trying to set. Rey peers up at him, looking confused, but then she smiles sweetly, understanding in her eyes.

“You’re hot, Ben,” she says, almost like a promise. “So fucking hot -- all summer, I took that stupid train, trying to see you again, trying to work up the courage to talk to you--”

“I don’t think you lack courage, sweetheart.”

The endearment spills out, but Rey only blushes and lies back down against his comforter. He rubs his thumbs in small circles against her thighs before starting up again.

“But _you_ ,” he continues, back to his vision of her walking into his classroom, settling in the seat in front of him. “You come waltzing into my classroom, sitting right up front, when I know the only thing between me and your pussy is the six feet it would take to cross the floor, grab you, and fuck you senseless.”

“That would be quite the introductory lesson,” Rey interjects, but Ben gives her a stern look when she peers at him again. She quiets and lies back down.

“How could I teach about art,” he murmurs. “Knowing that the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen was sitting right in front of me?”

Rey squirms, and when he gazes at her, he can see clearly in her face that she doesn’t believe him; they’re quite a pair, he thinks, outsiders with absolutely no trust in their own aesthetic value -- and, as an artist, Ben understands more than most that beauty is really in the eye of the beholder.

But, Rey _is_ objectively beautiful, from her freckled cheeks to her long legs, to her bare, pink cunt, that’s glistening in front of him, that he can’t ignore any longer.

He licks a stripe from cunt to clit, and Rey yelps, her knees jerking upwards. “So sweet,” he murmurs, diving back into lap around her clit, his fingers abandoning their post at her thighs, one hand spreading her open at little more, the other teasing at her entrance. “So sweet for me.”

Rey shudders, her hands grabbing at his shoulders -- which are now effectively keeping her legs spread apart as he devours her -- and his hair, even at his ears for a brief moment. Ben alternates between kissing her clit, licking around it, and even replacing his fingers at her cunt with his tongue here and there -- eventually, he slips one, and then two fingers into her body; she takes the intrusion so well, her cunt clenching at his fingers in a heady way.

In a few minutes, Rey’s keyed up tellingly, her back arching often, her legs now draped over his shoulders, her hips grinding helplessly against his face. Ben pulls away, and just as he did yesterday, he commands her, “Come for me,” voice hoarse, fingers still buried in her cunt, twisted to press against a spot deep inside her that had her cursing a blue streak when he found it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck--” Rey curses again, one hand leaving his hair (which she’d been holding onto for dear life by that point) to cover her mouth.

With a proprietary growl, he releases the grip he has on her thigh to wrench her hand away from her mouth. “Come for me,” he orders again, and she clenches around his fingers, screaming, face twisted like a holy painting, twisted up in rapture and glory, and Ben memorizes it greedily.

“Fuck me,” Rey orders, sliding up the bed within seconds of him releasing her. He sucks his fingers clean, his cheek no doubt bulging obscenely, and Rey grabs up at him. “Fuck me,” she says, almost pleading, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. Ben opens his bedside table’s drawer so quickly he wouldn’t be surprised if it were broken and pulls out the strip of condoms he hasn’t had occasion to use in almost half a year.

“Take your shirt off,” he orders right back, sharp and commanding, a scolding tone that’s effective in a lecture hall, and apparently, just as effective with Rey Smith.

“Fuck,” she moans, sitting up to rip her shirt off and over her head; she throws it away from the bed, her pretty, flushed tits now available for Ben to touch.

So he does.

With the condoms still in his hands, he stumbles to the bed and covers her body with his, not caring that she’s naked and he’s clothed; Rey grinds against his thigh, and distantly he realizes he’ll have to dry clean his pants, probably, but also, _who gives a fuck,_ because the girl from the train, who his mind and body have equally craved all summer, is naked and grinding against his thigh in his bed, wet and soaked and asking him to fuck her.

He lets Rey fumble with his belt as he continues to kiss her, pushing his tongue into a mouth in a way that could only be described as _fucking her mouth_ \-- and save that idea for later, Solo -- and then she unzips his pants. Before she can push the pants off his hips, he shakes his head.

“Like this,” he insists, grabbing her hand and pinning it to the bed. “I’m going to fuck you like this.” He squeezes gently, not moving yet, waiting for her to say _fuck off,_ or _never mind, I remembered I have badminton club at four,_ but she just nods, breathlessly.

“Okay.” She tilts her hips up, and Ben pulls away, kneeling so he can tear a foil packet open and take out the condom. His eyes stay firmly in place, studying her naked, flushed, laid out on his bed like a meal, like a goddamn work of art; his knees are on either side of her hips, keeping her in place, and her hands have stayed against the bedspread after he pushed her hand away. She looks beautiful, and he’s so happy.

“Good girl,” he praises, his own breath catching as he grasps the base of his cock, his pants open obscenely, boxers shoved down enough that he can free his erection and roll the condom on.

Rey squirms against the bed, and he smirks at her. “Do you like it when I call you a good girl?” He gives his cock a few experimental strokes, and his mind drifts, thinks about taking the condom off and jerking himself off until he comes all over her small, pretty tits, and her flat stomach, thinks about rubbing his come into her until her skin smells like him, and she knows what _torture_ it is to watch the person you want more than anything fuck themselves in front of you and be unable to touch them back --

She nods though, something desperate and clear in her eyes, and Ben doesn’t want to torture her. He wants to fuck her. He wants to have her, forever.

“You are a good girl,” he assures her, grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed and helping Rey lift her hips, pushing the pillow in place under her ass. Now, her pelvis is tilted up towards him, letting him grip her hips and guide his cock to her hot, wet cunt. “Such a good girl.”

“Yeah?” Rey smiles at him dreamily.

“So good,” he praises, rubbing the head of his cock around her clit for a few seconds, enjoying the sound and sight of it.

“Thank you, Professor,” Rey manages, her cheeks bright red at his close study of her naked body.

“You’re welcome, Rey,” he says graciously, before nudging his hips forward, his cock notching just inside her burning hot cunt. “Fuck, you feel good.” That’s not even part of his plan to praise her -- it’s his honest opinion, slipping out involuntarily when she clenches around him.

Rey’s hands fist in the comforter as he inches forward, one hand still tight on her hip as he kneels over her, fucking into her slowly, pulling out slightly just to push in more, and one thumb begins to rub above her clit, small, soothing motions that cause her to flutter around him.

“You okay?” He asks, watching her face carefully when he’s almost fully in. Rey nods, eyes glassy, mouth parted. “Good.”

Ben doesn’t hold anything back when he fucks her, just rolls his hips into her with increasing pace and force, hands drifting to her ass, to her tits, to her clit and back again. He mouths along her neck at one point before hitching her leg around his waist, falling over to cover her with his body completely. They kiss messily, open-mouthed, Rey panting short abbreviations of his name, his title, matching his groans.

They’re being almost embarrassingly loud, but fuck it, his neighbors aren’t home to hear the way his bed slams into the wall, the way Rey wails when he does, in fact, get her to come on his cock, and no one is there to judge him for shouting when her nails dig into the small of his back, right above the swell of his ass, holding him in place almost mercilessly as he comes violently.

“Oh _God_ \--”

“Just Rey,” she reminds him cheekily, and he’s laughing even as he moaning, emptying into the condom further until he’s a twitching mess of a human being.

He doesn’t pull out right away, not for the first few seconds, but Rey’s little hands shove at him a little uncomfortably, and he remembers that he outweighs her by a hundred pounds and is probably squishing her.

“Sorry,” he mutters, rolling away to pull off the condom and chuck it in the direction of the trash can, missing it entirely.

“Swish.” Rey smirks, her eyes closed, when he pokes her side. She makes no move to roll away, even after he’s unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it off the side of the bed, when he carefully lies down next to her. But, she does crack an eye open. “Yes,” she whispers.

“Yes what?” His fingers drift up and down her side.

“Knew you’d be hot.” Her eyes are still closed while she wiggles towards him, rolling into his now bare abdomen. “Mmm. And you smell nice.”

“I smell nice?” Ben considers this and shrugs. “You do too?”

“Oh gee, thanks.” Rey smiles into his chest, and he wraps an arm around her, almost afraid of how his heart feels like it’s swelling. Something tells him it’s a good feeling.

There’s a few moments of quiet, and Ben almost falls asleep, he’s so content.

“Maybe we should go on a date sometime.” Rey’s whisper stirs him slightly, and he smiles even though she can’t see it.

“Maybe we should,” Ben agrees, scratching his nails lightly on her bare back. Rey hums happily and burrows into his chest further. _Fuck._ He’s so fucked.

“Or…”

“Or?”

“Or, we can just continue to have mindblowing sex?” Rey shrugs, her tone forcibly casual. _Does she think I don’t want more?_

Instead of freaking out or taking the easy out she’s reluctantly offering, Ben sighs and drops a kiss into her sweaty, still sweet-smelling hair.

“I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive,” he points out. “I don’t see why we can’t do both. Dates _and_ mind-blowing sex.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, to me: "noooo, Rey, go to the bathroom before falling asleep!" also me to me: "just let them cuddle, asshole, it's a fic"
> 
>  
> 
> A HUGE thank you to how supportive everyone was of the first two chapters. This was so fun to write, and I'm happy people were so kind about my first foray into Reylo/fic! I hope this smut was decent, I sort of just slammed the keys and hoped for the best and out came 4400 words of smuttiness  
>  
> 
> I'm sure there's plenty more in this universe to discover, but hopefully this isn't the worst way to leave our couple


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